Beyond the Sea
by katriel1987
Summary: Tales of life and death, in Atlantis and beyond. -anthology- Updated 1/7/11: "The blood running into John's eyes is blinding."
1. fear

**beyond the sea**

This anthology represents my attempt to consolidate all of my shorter Atlantis stories into one place. Most of these have already been published before—some a long time ago—but I will periodically be adding new stories. Overall rating is T but some stories are rated lower than that.

----

**Title:** Fear

**Summary:** "Everything is afraid of something."

**Spoilers:** "Hide and Seek"

**Category:** Drabble, episode tag

**Originally Published:** 7.26.04

**Disclaimer:** Not mine; not getting paid; I'm just playing with them.

**Original Author's Note:** My first "Stargate Atlantis" fic, a 100-word drabble from Jinto's POV, set post-"Hide and Seek".

----

Teyla told me that everything is scared of something. Does that mean even the Wraith feel fear? Are they frightened when darkness falls and hungry shadows wait just out of sight? Do they fear hunger or pain or death?

Someday I will be a great warrior like Major Sheppard, and I will make the Wraith fear me. I will make them sorry for taking my mother. I will make them sorry for destroying the old city and hurting my people for so long. Until then, I will sleep with my father nearby, and I will not flee from the darkness.

**-finis-**


	2. home

**Title:** Home

**Summary:** Home, in this case, really is an illusion.

**Spoilers:** "Home"

**Pairings:** None really

**Warnings:** None

**Category:** Episode tag

**Originally Published:** 11.2.04

**Word Count:** 296

**Disclaimer:** Not mine; not getting paid; I'm just playing with them.

----

She steps through the Stargate and drinks in the sights and smells of a little, dusty, relatively primitive planet tucked away in an obscure corner of the universe.

Earth.

To her, it's the most beautiful place in the cosmos, and for so long she's been afraid, desperately afraid, that she'll never see it again.

"Welcome home."

Two sweeter words have never fallen upon human ears.

For much of her adult life, Elizabeth Weir viewed 'home' as an elusive concept, an illusion really. Upon returning 'home', those who had longed for it were often disappointed, discovering that it wasn't all they'd remembered it to be, their wistful memories crushed beneath the weight of reality.

Now she knows exactly what the word 'home' means. She knows why the promise of 'home' has given countless soldiers on countless battlefields, those of Earth and a million other planets down through the millennia, the strength to drag their ravaged bodies through one more battle.

She is so euphoric, so caught up in this serendipitous visit to her planet, that she ignores the alarm bells—for a while. Something's off, they say. Something's wrong.

Kisses don't feel right, roses don't smell right, raindrops are the wrong color. She tries to tell herself that _she_ is the one who's changed, but she knows all along it's a lie.

In the end, the heartbreaking truth is revealed: home, in this case, really is an illusion. Returned to a place of hard dirt and bitter darkness, she blinks away the last images of the world she loves. She must be strong. She mustn't show her disappointment.

Hallucinations be damned; Earth is real, and even if she never sees it again, she'll fight for it with the last breath in her body.

It's home. That's enough.

**-finis-**


	3. after the fall

**Title:** After the Fall

**Summary:** They came back with Ford.

**Spoilers:** Up to "The Lost Boys"

**Pairings:** Slight Teyla/Ronon

**Warnings:** Character death

**Category:** Angst, deathfic

**Originally Published:** 9.24.05

**Word Count:** 385

**Disclaimer:** Not mine; not getting paid; I'm just playing with them.

----

They came back with Ford.

Elizabeth should have been happy. Thrilled. Lord knew it made her feel like a horrible leader, a horrible _person_, that she wasn't.

She stood, arms hanging limply, and watched as Ronon and Teyla dumped Ford's unconscious form on the floor. Ronon stared down at the lieutenant for a moment, jaw twitching, and then turned sharply away. Teyla followed. Her brief anguished glance at Elizabeth spoke volumes.

McKay didn't quit working for days afterward. He drove himself to the point of exhaustion, finally forcing Elizabeth to order him to stop. Even then, he didn't.

Teyla and Ronon were always together, and even after they were weaned off the enzyme, there was something different about them. They were colder, quieter, more dangerous somehow, almost daring anyone to challenge their newfound relationship. They were more a military alliance than a romantic couple, united in shared pain and fury.

Ford, after he regained consciousness, was mostly quiet. It seemed he finally grasped, finally comprehended, the enormity of what he had done, of what had been done to him. He knew to place some of the responsibility on the drug that had overwhelmed his system—no shoulders were strong enough to bear the whole weight of what had happened—but he also understood that he had failed in a monumental way.

He was polite and meekly agreed to be weaned off the enzyme, but he looked into no one's eyes. Perhaps he knew they would never see him the same way again. Perhaps he knew the condemnation in their eyes would be more than he could bear.

Elizabeth...Elizabeth was brisk and authoritative and calm. She issued commands and ran Atlantis like the competent leader she was, and if she inwardly questioned her ability to continue, she hid it well.

She didn't sleep much. Sometimes she prowled the outside balconies at 3 AM. Sometimes, when no one was near, she climbed up onto the railing and stared down at the dark, deep ocean below. She never jumped—she just looked.

Atlantis moved on forever altered, forever lacking something—someone.

They brought back Ford, but Sheppard died on the ship. In the end, they never could forgive.

Ford disappeared through the Stargate three weeks later. This time, they let him go.

**-finis-**


	4. mockingbird

**Title:** Mockingbird

**Summary:** Hush little baby, don't you cry

**Spoilers:** None

**Pairings:** None

**Warnings:** Character death

**Category:** Angst, deathfic

**Originally Published:** 9.27.05

**Word Count:** 522

**Disclaimer:** Not mine; not getting paid; I'm just playing with them.

**Original Author's Note:** This is not your ordinary songfic. It's what happens when a person with a dark, twisted mind (me, for example) listens to Eminem's "Mockingbird" while reading "Stargate Atlantis" fanfiction.

----

"Daddy?...Daddy?"

Tear-filled eyes. Blood-splattered green dress. She's on her knees in the icy mud beside him and she's holding his hand but he can't feel it any more.

"Don't cry," he says. "Don't cry, Allie." That can't be his voice—his voice isn't supposed to sound like that. His breath isn't supposed to rattle on the inhale. He isn't supposed to be dying.

_Now hush little baby, don't you cry_

_Everything's gonna be all right_

_Stiffen that upper lip up little lady, I told ya_

_Daddy's here to hold ya through the night_

"Go," he whispers as numbness creeps up his chest toward his neck so that he can't even feel himself breathing any more. "Allie..."

"No!" She insists, four years old, brown-eyed, three feet of terrified stubbornness. "I won't!"

"Run to the village, Allie. Please..."

She doesn't move. She sits in the mud holding his hand. He doesn't want her to die. He doesn't want her to see him die. She has to go.

"Allie, go to the village. Tell them to come back for me. They can help me get better."

Allie releases his hand and it drops to the mud with a soft thump. She starts to get up, then stops, confused, torn.

"Allie, go! Run!"

She's crying in earnest now, her tiny frame shuddering with sobs. "Daddy..." she says, and it seems that all the pain and loss and fear and confusion in the universe is wrapped up in that one word. His heart shatters.

"Run!" He says sharply, because he's so tired and if she doesn't leave now he's going to ask her to stay because he doesn't want to die alone. She can't stay. She'll die if she stays.

She obeys him, finally, and runs away toward the village without looking back. After she's out of sight he musters the strength for one weak, choking sob.

He will never see his daughter again.

_If you ask me to, Daddy's gonna buy you a mockingbird_

_I'm gonna give you the world_

_I'm gonna buy a diamond ring for you, I'm gonna sing for you_

_I'll do anything for you to see you smile_

The villagers won't come for him, and he doesn't blame them. They're good people, but they aren't stupid. They'll take care of Allie. They'll raise her and give her a home. That's all that matters now.

She'll hate him someday, probably, because he lied to her and told her to go and never gave her a chance to say goodbye. But some part of her will surely always love him. Some part of her will surely cling to the warmth and security he gave her. Some part of her will surely remember how he took her in after her mother died, and changed her diapers and tucked her in at night and sang to her.

"Don't forget me, Butterfly," he whispers with his dying breath.

Allie Sheppard will never see her father again.

_No more worries, rest your head and go to sleep_

_Maybe one day we'll wake up and this will all just be a dream_

**-finis-**


	5. ancient

**Title:** Ancient

**Summary:** She did what she had to do. She'll never forgive herself.

**Spoilers:** None

**Pairings:** None, but I guess you could imply Shep/Weir if you were really desperate...

**Warnings:** Character death

**Category:** Angst, deathfic

**Originally Published:** 8.1.06

**Word Count:** 303

**Disclaimer:** Not mine; not getting paid; I'm just playing with them.

**Original Author's Note:** Yes, I do know that I am evil. And I enjoy every minute of it. (evil smile) Please note that this was written long before "Common Ground".

----

He looks a hundred years old. No, older than that—he looks a million years old, and his not-quite-green eyes lock on her face with an intensity that's one of the few things left unchanged about him.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I'm so sorry."

He smiles, and it's such a pathetic mockery of his real smile that it's all she can do to keep from glancing away in revulsion. "Not...your fault," he wheezes breathlessly. He reaches out a shaking hand to grasp hers. She makes the mistake of looking down at it. The skin is thin and wrinkled like tissue paper and dark blue veins spiderweb just beneath the surface. Tears well up and she looks back at his eyes because they're the only thing left that still looks like him.

"Eliz...abeth," he whispers.

"I'm here, John." She gently squeezes his hand. It feels feather-light and fragile in her grip and she's afraid of breaking it, breaking him, but she shouldn't be because he's already broken. It's over and done. Nothing she can do will make it worse.

He smiles again, but it never reaches his eyes. "Kill me," he says softly.

The tears overflow. She knew he was going to ask. She saw it in his eyes and she can't kill him and she can't leave him like this. She doesn't know what to do.

"Elizabeth," he says again. "Please. Please..."

She releases his hand and steps away. The pistol is cold in her grip. She still can't believe she is doing this, but she can't _not_ do this, and she has to do it right. "Goodbye, John," she says, and places the pistol oh so carefully against his temple and pulls the trigger.

She cries afterward, bitterly. She did what she had to do.

She'll never forgive herself.

**-finis-**


	6. checkmate

**Title:** Checkmate

**Summary:** Sheppard has just enough strength left to smile. "You lose," he says.

**Spoilers:** None really

**Pairings:** None

**Warnings:** Character death

**Category:** Angst, deathfic

**Originally Published:** 4.19.07

**Word Count:** 373

**Disclaimer:** Not mine; not getting paid; I'm just playing with them.

----

Elizabeth is on her side three feet from the shattered window. Powdered glass glistens in her dark, wavy hair and her eyes stare blankly off into the distance. A small stream of blood trickles from the corner of her mouth and pools on the cold gray floor beneath her head. The 9 mil, empty now, lies a few inches from her hand. When worse came to worse, Elizabeth the leader became Elizabeth the warrior, and she died as both a leader and a warrior.

Teyla was always a leader and a warrior, from the moment they met her, and she too died as such. Sometimes Sheppard thinks she was born a warrior. She's on her back, legs twisted at an impossible angle, acrid smoke still curling up from her body. He's glad he can't see where her face used to be. At least the grenade blast killed her quickly.

McKay, brilliant, arrogant, annoying McKay, is still slumped over the control panel where he entered the self-destruct code. One arm hangs limply over the edge. Drops of blood drip slowly off his fingers to join the ever-growing pool beneath him. For all his high-pitched fear of death and pain, McKay was all courage at the end. He showed what he was really made of.

Ronon stayed up longer and fought more fiercely than anyone else. He is lying on his back five feet from Sheppard, still clutching his gun in a white-knuckle death grip. His chest is mostly blasted away because they had to shoot him so many times to bring him down. There was never any doubt that Ronon was all courage. He had more heart than ten men, and he stayed up just long enough to give Sheppard time.

Sheppard tries to move, but one of the last bullets to hit him in the back left him paralyzed. He coughs, and blood creeps up his throat, tasting strongly of copper. A dark shadow looms, and he manages to tilt his head up enough to see the gloating face of Acastus Kolya, flanked by the cold-faced Genii soldiers who shot Ronon.

Sheppard has just enough strength left to smile. "You lose," he says.

The self-destruct countdown shows 00:00:00. Kolya never hears the blast.

**-finis-**


	7. what justice feels like

**Title:** What Justice Feels Like

**Summary:** They're his friends. He doesn't want to hurt them. So why is there blood on his hands?

**Spoilers:** None really

**Pairings:** None

**Warnings:** Character death. LOTS of character death. And much blood. Also non-linear confusingness.

**Category:** Angst, deathfic

**Originally Published:** 5.27.07

**Word Count:** 373

**Disclaimer:** Not mine; not getting paid; I'm just playing with them.

----

There is blood on the floor, blood on his hands. He stands for a long time and stares at the blood as if looking can somehow make it go away. It isn't supposed to be there. It isn't supposed to/

/"_Ronon, what are you doing?_"

_Teyla stood with her back to the wall, concerned brown eyes fixed on his face. He didn't want to kill her, he really didn't, but the knife was in his hand and there was her throat and he had no choice._

/happen this way. These people are his friends. He trusts them. He doesn't want to hurt them/

/"_Hey, Ronon, what's up?_"

_Sheppard was all spiky black hair and quizzical green eyes. He could tell something was wrong, and he was halfway to his feet by the time the thrown knife struck him in the heart. It took him a while to die, and he asked why, but Ronon didn't know the answer._

/so why is there blood on his hands?

He remembers something, voices that wouldn't go away, voices in his head and how it hurt and how he had to do what they said. They said to kill his team/

/_The alarms were going off by the time he reached McKay's lab. The scientist's eyes went wide when he saw the gun and his mouth gaped but the bullet didn't give him time to panic. He wasn't like Sheppard; he died quickly and didn't say anything._

/and now there is blood on his hands, the blood of his friends, the blood of his family. He doesn't hear the voices any more but now it is too late.

"Ronon, put down your weapon!"

The words come from behind him; it's Lorne, who says meaningless things about how Ronon was brainwashed and it wasn't his fault and Carson can make him better. Ronon knows it's too late for that; nothing will ever make him better.

The voices are silent; he makes his own decision because it is what he has to do. He turns and points the gun at Lorne, and Lorne fires and the bullets hit Ronon in the chest and he knows how Sheppard felt.

He is on the floor. There's blood on the floor, blood on his hands, but this time it's his own blood. He thinks this is what justice feels like.

**-finis-**


	8. becoming the monster

**Title:** Becoming the Monster

**Summary:** In his dreams, he dies every night.

**Spoilers:** "Conversion" and "Common Ground" (draws heavily from the events of those episodes)

**Category:** Angst, Drabble

**Word Count:** 150

**Published:** 9.12.2007 (today)

**Disclaimer: **Not mine; not getting paid; I'm just playing with them.

----

In his dreams, he dies every night. In his dreams, his life leaks out through a hole in his chest, feeding the monster that grows up in front of him.

In his dreams, he wants to beg, but can't because he has no voice. The monster can tell, though—it can sense his fear, can see that he is broken, and it laughs at him as it feeds.

In his dreams, the monster reaches down and touches him and suddenly he's alive, more alive than he's ever been, and strong and powerful...and he looks down at himself and realizes he's become the monster.

He wakes gasping, stuck to sweat-soaked sheets, and he always has to go look in the mirror and make sure he's still himself. Because he remembers becoming the monster, and the fear is always there that someday he might look at his reflection and again see a monster where his face should be.

**-finis-**


	9. thirtyseven days

**Title:** Thirty-Seven Days

**Summary:** He had been missing for exactly thirty-seven days when she realized he was dead.

**Spoilers:** None really

**Pairings:** None

**Warnings:** Character death

**Category:** Angst, deathfic

**Word Count:** 835

**Disclaimer:** Not mine; not getting paid; I'm just playing with them.

----

He had been missing for exactly thirty-seven days when she realized he was dead.

It wasn't like a flash from the sky. There was no voice booming in her head. She was sitting at the briefing room table, staring blindly at the window, her hands wrapped around a cooling mug of untouched black coffee. She couldn't really feel her hands. She couldn't really feel anything, but that had become normal lately and she was almost starting to get used to it.

Zelenka and McKay were arguing. It wasn't as if this was anything out of the ordinary—Zelenka and McKay were always arguing, and not even the devastating disappearance of Lt. Colonel John Sheppard could bring them to a truce. To their dubious credit, they had held off for a few days before fighting over how best to try to find him.

She had wanted to strangle them. Her fingernails had made bloody imprints in her palms. She hadn't actually been angry at _them_, so she had forced a calm expression onto her face and had told them to come see her when they came up with a plan.

They had come up with a plan, of course, because, although they often behaved like demonic caffeine-hyped little brothers from hell, they were brilliant almost beyond comprehension. Their plan was a good one, but it didn't work. They came up with another plan, then another; those didn't work either.

Nothing worked, and finally she had to call in the search teams, because there was nowhere left to search. She still remembered the looks Ronon and Teyla had given her when, only moments after they had returned empty-handed with the last search team, she'd told them that there would be no more searching. Lt. Colonel John Sheppard was missing in action, presumed dead, and there was nothing more they could do about it.

Ronon hadn't argued. His expression had been one of weary resignation, but his eyes had said it all—behind the deceptive façade he was coldly furious, at himself, at her, at Sheppard, at the universe. Teyla's calm façade had held up well, but deep sadness had taken up permanent residence in her dark eyes.

Teyla didn't speak much after that. Ronon almost never spoke at all.

McKay and Zelenka weren't discussing Sheppard, of course; they didn't talk about him any more. No one talked about him any more. Everyone skirted around the subject as if not talking about him would somehow make him reappear. Sometimes she though that everyone wanted to pretend he was still around—just off for a spin in the jumper, or skinny-dipping off one of the lower balconies, or annoying scientists somewhere. Not gone. Not dead.

As moments passed, and some detached part of her brain mechanically catalogued McKay and Zelenka's continuing argument and provided the proper responses, she gradually realized that she had been doing the same thing as everyone else. She had been forcing herself to not speak of Sheppard, to not even think of him, because if she did she might have to admit he was dead.

She blinked. The light reflecting off the window was bright, but it was no lightning bolt. There was nothing so dramatic as thunder from Heaven—only a sad sense of closure, and the knowledge that something needed to be done.

Abruptly, she took her hands away from the coffee mug and flexed her fingers, wincing at the pins and needles. She'd been working on autopilot for the last thirty-seven days, with all of her true focus on Sheppard—on willing him home, willing him to be alive, waiting for him to return. Almost everyone else, no matter how well they maintained their facades, had been doing the same thing.

With the knowledge that Sheppard was dead came the realization that it was time for the city to move on. They had not even allowed themselves to grieve because they had not allowed themselves to admit he was gone.

McKay and Zelenka finally realized that she was not paying attention and trailed off into rare silence, staring at her. As feeling came back into her hands, she looked up at them and smiled a little despite the tears pricking her eyes.

"I need the two of you to spread the word," she said quietly. "We're going to hold a memorial service for Colonel Sheppard."

There was a time to die, and a time to live...a time for tears and a time for laughter. Past the death and tears she knew there would be life and laughter again, but that didn't abate the gnawing ache that came with the impossibly difficult admission she had finally made.

Lt. Colonel John Sheppard was not coming back. Atlantis would always be lacking him—his intelligence, his energy, his friendship, his expertise—but the time had come to face life without him.

She waited to cry until McKay and Zelenka were gone.

He had been missing for exactly thirty-seven days when she realized he was dead.

**-finis-**


	10. go down fighting

**Title:** Go Down Fighting  
**Author:** katriel1987  
**Summary:** "The blood running into John's eyes is blinding."  
**Rating:** T for blood  
**Word Count:** 210  
**Characters:** John, mentions of Ronon and Teyla  
**Notes:** It's been ages since I wrote SGA, but one of the prompts over at comment_fic on LJ inspired me. May not be the last time; I still adore SGA as much as ever.  
**More Notes:** I am currently very high on painkillers after getting my wisdom teeth out yesterday. Wheeee.

* * *

The blood running into John's eyes is blinding. He tries to swipe it away with the back of a shaking hand, but it keeps coming. Stupid head wounds and their tendency to _just keep bleeding._

He's down to a knife now, both guns lost somewhere in the overgrown vines and swampy ground. He knows he isn't the best at hand-to-hand combat—it would be kind of hard not to know that, as often as Ronon and Teyla point it out.

Good thing his opponent doesn't have hands. Maybe John is secretly a total badass at hand-to-claw combat. He snorts at the thought.

Vines rustle, and he spins, heart pounding. The big cat emerges slowly from a patch of bright blue flowers, its golden eyes intent and disconcertingly intelligent. It knows John is injured—his forehead won't stop bleeding, and his left leg drags when he moves. It's been tracking him, tasting his blood, and now it wants supper.

John grips the knife in a sweaty hand and gives the cat a feral smile, blinking against the blood clotting in his lashes. All he needs is one clear shot at its throat.

"Here, kitty kitty," he says softly.

He might go down, but it won't be without a fight.

_end_


End file.
